Imperfect
by SwingsUponTheGround
Summary: Mrs. O'Neil was experimented on by the Kraang in order to find the missing link between Dimension X and Earth. April turned to be out exactly what they were looking for; She was perfect. But was she the only experiment? No, not at all. My mother was experimented on too. It didn't go so well. Why did I turn out different? With April, they used Kraang DNA; with me, they used mutagen.
1. Only a Little Weird

**A/N: Nope, I don't own Tmnt, only my original characters. Rated T because I'm paranoid!**

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Summary:

Mrs. O'Neil was experimented on by the Kraang in order to find the missing link between Dimension X and Earth. April turned to be out exactly what they were looking for; She was perfect. But was she the only experiment? No, not at all. My mother was experimented on too. It didn't go so well. Why did I turn out different? With April, they used Kraang DNA; with me, they used mutagen.

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Only A Little Weird

I looked perfectly and utterly average, and that's the way I liked.

My hair wasn't cut terribly short and it wasn't very long; it was an unremarkable shade of brown with nothing else worthy of being described.

My dull green eyes with a splash of dull brown in the middle were neither large and full of wonder, nor slanted and laughing.

My body wasn't tall, and again, it was not short. I was not the skinniest girl ever to walk the earth, but I wasn't very thick either.

I looked so completely un-extraordinary that half of my neighbors could not recognize me as the girl who lived in the slim grey house and who's father was a doctor.

And as I said before, it suited me just fine. In fact, I would give anything to be able to live up to the impressions which many shared about me: quiet, ordinary, content and trouble free. Unfortunately, fate herself seemed to hold a grudge against me and denied me these simple wishes.

Every girl has secrets, so in that respect I _was_ ordinary, but not every girl has a life-threatening secret. Oh, I'm sure some do! I'm just saying that it's uncommon. How do I know mine is life-threatening? Well, it killed my mother, it drove her mad.

My world consists of very few items with sentimental worth. There's my father for one; he knows what a monster I am, but he's never abandoned me. He homeschooled me for nine years, quite a feat since he is also a working doctor. He's been the only friend I've ever had. And no matter what happens, no matter what I say or do, he has never ever said that he understands. He knows that he doesn't, he knows that he never will, and he knows that I would see through his lies. But he has held me close when I cried, he has done everything in his power to ease the challenges life brings to me. I love him with all my heart.

In our house, there are two pictures of my mother. One on her wedding day, and one at my birth. To other people, she was no beauty queen, but to me, she is flawless. Her hair was a shimmery black and her wide blue eyes are smiling. Every day when I pass her on the wall, I tell her I'm sorry, I promise to become stronger, I swear never to hurt another being, I say that I can control my power, when I can't.

There aren't many books, and most are kept in my father's study. But there is one book that I call my own. It was my mother's last present to me, and I have kept it in the best condition I could manage: Black Beauty.

My world is an empty one, but I am very rarely lonely.

~o~0~O~0~o~

I stand before the mirror, fidgeting anxiously. 'Ok, Melody,' I tell myself. 'Just breathe in and relax. How hard could school be?'

I pull a navy blue sweater over my head, flipping my hair out and readjusting it. I lace up my shoes and put on a hat. I look at myself and wrinkle my nose. 'Alright, maybe a jacket instead.'

The minutes trickle by and I've changed outfits several times, becoming more and more nervous as the butterflies in my stomach refused to settle.

"Melody?" my father calls from downstairs. "I don't want you to be late on your first day."

"Coming, Dad!" I answer.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and turn towards the window. The lie the black, knitted gloves. They were Dad's first day of school to me after my old ones wore out. 'Perhaps you don't need them.' I find myself thinking. 'You haven't had a serious accident in months. Go on, test yourself.'

'No,' I say firmly. 'I am not taking any chances.' But I feel myself heading towards the bathroom almost unwillingly. I fill up a bowl and place it on the counter; I lock the door behind me.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. 'Please,' I beg myself. 'Please, please, please, please, please work this time. Focus, control it. Do it for Mother. Please Melody, for the first time in your life, pull yourself together.'

I reach my shaky, pale hands towards the clear water. I did my fingertips in and my stomach clenches up. I lower even more into the liquid and I suppress the urge to vomit. Slowly, careful not to spill, I submerge my hand completely. I'm dizzy from the suspense and terror.

'Eight, seven, six. No, don't think like that. It'll work this time, it has to.'

My whole body is shaking. Not with cold, not with fear. It's a warning sign of what's about to happen. The water seems to cloud up.

I shut my eyes, I can't take it. 'It has to work! It's not going to work! Three, two . . . Quick! Jerk your hand out!'

My hand snaps out of the water as a crack echoes through the tiled room. 'Too late, oh no, oh no. calm down don't panic.' I refuse to open my eyes. 'Don't panic, don't panic don't panic.'

"Melody?" my dad's voice is right outside my bedroom door.

"Coming!" I manage to choke out. Groping for the handle I wrench the door open and snatch up the gloves. 'Don't look. Don't look. It's still going to be alright.'

'Maybe it did work. Maybe you did control it. Turn around. Check for sure.'

With a sick stomach, I look back into the bathroom. My heart jumps into my throat. 'So much for no accidents, so much for no big accidents.'

The bowl, the floor, and the shower curtain are all covered in a fuzzy layer of frost. The water had turned to ice and resembled a splash, freezing the moment I pulled my hand out. The ceiling, the door and the walls are shimmering because of the layer of ice. The glass window reflects my horrified, pale face.

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**A/N: Yeah, chapter one is more of a teaser and yes, Melody does have ice powers. This idea came to me one day after we find out in the 2012 series that April is half Kraang and therefore "The Link." And it didn't seem right to me that the Kraang would try only once to get the "Link" and that it would work perfectly the first time using the first method. Thus, the idea of a failed Kraang "Link" was born.**

**Many will consider this a ridiculous idea but hey, the entire notion of teenaged mutant turtles trained to be ninjas by their mutant rat sensei/master/father is absurd. Don't judge me.**

**Melody's ice powers were also inspired by Disney's Frozen because it irked me no end how one minute, Elsa's all "oh poor me I can't control myself. Nobody gets it, I'm trapped. Boohoo," and the next "YAY! Happiness and Sparkles, everything's good now." -_- (Also, Frozen was inspired by "The Snow Queen," perhaps one of my most favorite Fairy Tales of all time, AND DISNEY TOTALLY BUTCHERED IT!) 8(**

**Ok, I'm done venting. There will be turtles and mutants and Kraang and Shredder and Foot and all that good stuff LATER ON in the story. I want to give Melody's character time to grow and develop before she learns what she is (a mutant) and that there are more things like her.**

**R&R Please! Whether it's Flames or Praise or something in between, please give good criticism so I can improve, I hope to be a writer someday. Everything helps! (I promise I won't delete a single review unless it's offensive)**

_**~SwingsUponTheGround**_


	2. A Different World

**A/N: Yay! Next chapter! Sorry it took so long to update. Enjoy!**

**(I own only the OC's)**

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A Different World

After a few attempts, my father gave up and stopped trying to make conversation. I sat in the back row of the car and stared at the outside, watching the people and their behavior.

I'd studied normal humans for as long as I could remember; picking up slang, mimicking facial expressions, practicing conversations. I was so nervous about sticking out, making a scene. When I was younger, back before mother died, she had often tried to help me make friends. She'd only take me out in the wintertime because I had even less control over the ice back then than I did now. Relatives, neighbors, family friends, strangers; she made me meet all of them in the hopes that by becoming more comfortable, the ice would become more manageable; it didn't work out.

Sure, the visit would start out fine, but the less introverted and shy I became, the more I socialized, the more I froze. We had to avoid spring and summer parties at all costs; a trail of frost would be left in the grass and any plant, be it flower, tree or shrub, would freeze and turn black at my touch.

We figured out long ago that it became harder to control my ice the less I focused on it. Constant vigilance, that's what worked the best. So we stopped going places for holidays, made the decision to homeschool me, cut ourselves almost completely off from society and I could control myself just fine, or nearly. That's why I was scared of school, from what it looked like, it was impossible _not_ to interact with somebody else.

But despite everything I'd ever done, I still wanted to try school, make a friend maybe. I couldn't live at my fathers house forever, and I'd never know what would happen until I tried.

"Hey," my dad said when he dropped me off. "Have a good day. Don't be scared about freezing, and do whatever your gut tells you."

I smiled back at him. "Thanks dad. I'll be okay."

I then turned to face my greatest challenge in years: Roosevelt High School.

~o~0~O~0~o~

The school was a maze. Trying not to jostle any other students, it took me twelve minutes to locate my locker, and another fifteen to find my first period classroom. When I had, I slipped quietly to the back of the room and took a seat at an empty desk.

Other kids filed in and the room began to become claustrophobic. Ice was gathering under my hat and gloves. I rubbed my hands together, detaching the gritty flakes from my palms and hoped fervently that the empty seat beside me would remain empty. No such luck.

Moments before the tardy bell rang, a tall, gangly boy swung inside and plopped next to me, even though there were three other seats. I remained still, trying to attract as little attention to myself as possible. I could no longer feel the hat through the ice, the half melted water on my hands solidified and now frost was beginning to layer my legs. I bit the inside of my cheek, hoping nothing would form on my clothing.

"Good morning class," the balding teacher said cheerily. "As I hope you know, this is Chemistry and I am Mr. Briggs."

We were going to start off with role call every day, he told us. Too many tardies and absences would result in a lowered grade. When he called "Melody Endwick" I silently jerked my hand halfway into the air.

I was distracted; the ice on my legs was beginning to melt. There wasn't a lot, so it probably wouldn't show on my jeans, but I was too nervous to take chances. I used a technique which I had been practicing in my earliest memories. I had to freeze the water on my legs, careful not to add extra ice, and try to move it down an inch or two before letting it melt again. Moving already formed ice was the strangest sensation. I could feel the ice on my leg, but at the same time I could feel my leg as if from the perspective of the ice; it unnerved me. Having, for lack of a better word, _connected_ with the ice, I had to will it to move. It felt as if I were the ice and my limbs were trapped and slow to move. It took a tremendous amount of concentration because I had to ignore all of my bodies' senses in order to move the ice, and the slimy, slipping feeling on my leg was hard to ignore.

The ice had barely reached the safety of my socks when papers were dropped onto my desk.

"In front of you should be a periodic table, a lab format, and a syllabus which I want returned to me tomorrow signed by a parent. No late work accepted," Mr. Briggs warned. "I have nothing planned for today, so you may talk amongst yourselves. But, if you get too loud or I see any electronic devices, I'll assign all of chapter one for reading and a quiz tomorrow without hesitation."

The class grumbled unhappily and I stiffened. How much noise was too much noise? 'Don't be stupid,' I told myself. 'You're not going to be talking anyways.'

My current seat partner had yet to make any sort of sign of acknowledgement that I existed. I dug my thumbnail into my finger and hoped it would stay that way. I stared at the board and focused on keeping my ice from making any future appearances.

"Don't let Briggs scare you," the boy said abruptly. "Everyone says his bark is worse than his bite."

He leaned back, balancing the chair on two legs as he stretched his arms. I barely glanced at him, utterly terrified of any conversation at this point.

"So," he continued. "My name's Casey Jones. Who're you again?"

"Uh," I started. My voice was hoarse. I cleared it and started again. "Um, Melody Endwick." It sounded like a question.

"You new here?"

"Yeah."

"Where you from?"

I smiled a little. "Uh, New York."

"Oh," he said. "Freshmen?"

"No," I said. "I'm a sophomore."

"Huh. Homeschooled or somethin'" he asked.

"Homeschooled," I replied. Glancing at the clock, I wished for the end of the period, or the conversation; whichever came first.

"Okay," he said, nodding slightly. "Okay."

He gave a quick look around the room. Was he getting bored? Was he sensing the awkwardness I was trying to infect the conversation with? I turned back to the front, crossing my fingers.

"Got any hobbies?"

I bit my lip. 'It's okay, Mel. Just get through today. Tomorrow you can get your own desk.'

"Not really," I answered truthfully. "You?"

"I've played hockey since I was a kid," he said, turned half away.

Now my curiosity was piqued. For obvious reasons, I had always loved winter sports, and when I was younger had long begged my parents to enroll me in skiing or figure skating lessons. Skiing was too expensive, so we had tried skating.

Those few weeks were glorious in my memory. It took me next to no time to master it and after a short period I became quite dexterous at it. It felt like flying, it felt like blowing through the wind. My instructor had been ecstatic and immediately advanced me, eagerly telling my parents about all the career opportunities it would open. Mom and dad were happy too. With an hour or two of skating every day, I found it easy to control my ice, we were even able to go see a couple movies together without worry. Then there were, let's just say, complications.

Because of my affinity with ice, I could sense and manipulate the ice in front of my skates, thereby being able to perform techniques minutes after seeing them for the first time. I felt as if I could choose where to go on the ice, laying out the path before me, pushing myself forward by will instead of muscle. Being too young to fully understand the dangers of being a freak, I not only abandoned the pretense of propelling myself the way others did, but I began pulling off nearly impossible stunts which unfortunately attracted a lot of attention. Honestly, what newspaper _wouldn't_ want to write about a six year old girl who could perform sharp turns and spins and all sorts of things nine days after she put on ice skates for the first time? So we had to pull me out. My mother would still take me to the rink sometimes, just to get it out of my system, but my ice was on a very stable course to disaster. Eight months later, two months after my birthday, my mother died. I haven't had the opportunity or the control to go to the rink since.

Before I could ask Casey anything else, the bell rang, causing me to jump, and he was swept outside with the rest of the class.

~o~0~O~0~o~

History was dull, all we did was listen to Mr. Dubose read out the textbook. Everyone was texting under their desks and I became so bored that I actually froze up my pens for fun.

During recess, I wandered the halls, trying to look like I was doing something. I went to my locker no less than four times, double-triple checking that I had everything I might need.

For English, we were given piles of handouts, two chapters to read and a test tomorrow on who knows what. Ms. Angle told us that we would also be turning in a reading log. Shoot. Books and I don't mix very well.

French was horrific. I thought that language would simply be a memorization of vocabulary. According to Mrs. Falter, it wasn't. She was going on and on about declensions and conjugations and we would learn about the geography and history and why aren't you writing this down? There's a quiz tomorrow! And thank goodness, there's the bell.

Lunch was no different than recess except that I discovered that the bathroom was a good place to hide. What? Yeah it's gross, but where else was I supposed to go?

Algebra was the only class other than Chemistry that I had a seat partner. He was a rather large boy who ignored me as much as I ignored him. We got along famously.

PE, my last period, was torture. Mr. Gaddings had us running up and down stairs and doing push-ups and sit-ups and stretching and doing all the things which I was not gifted at.

Finally the bell rang and I was all too happy to leave. School was so different from anything I had imagined. It was all I could think about as I walked home.

I thought about Casey, the teachers, and the boy who didn't bother me as he drew what looked like comics. Funnily enough, the person whom I was most grateful towards for ignoring me, was now the person I was most eager to meet. I resolved to start a conversation tomorrow. Or next week. Or _someday_, I guess.

It wasn't until I had unlocked the front door that with a groan I remembered the mess in the bathroom which I now had to mop up before dad got home. The water had soaked everything, even the towels and the edge of the carpet in my room. As I was cleaning it up, I realized that, with the exception of Chemistry, I had had no accidents of any sort. I had been so preoccupied with fitting in and belonging, I barely thought about the ice. This was a monumental difference from years ago, when socializing meant certain freezing. 'But maybe,' I thought to myself as I retrieved fresh paper towels. 'Maybe you do need focus. Just focus on fitting in, not on how you stand out.'

~o~0~O~0~o~

_A mother and daughter were walking through a snow covered park._

_"Hey momma?"_

_"What is it?"_

_"Why am I different from everybody else?"_

_"Well, everybody's different."_

_"But I'm very different, aren't I?"_

_"Yes, you are."_

_"Were you like this when you were little?"_

_"Not at all."_

_"Oh," the girl let go of the woman's hand and strayed off the path a few steps. "Hey mom, look what I can do!"_

_She tore off her gloves and thrust her hands into the snow bank. Immediately the ground began to move, as if something trapped under it was trying to get out. The snow rose up to form a perfect snow figure; a little girl, identical to the first, with a delicate flower in her outstretched hand._

_"Melody!" The woman rushed forward, picking up her daughter in one arm while she knocked down the snow girl with the other._

_"What have we told you!" The woman cried. "You can never do this outside. People won't understand. You're not normal, baby, you have to hide it when you're in public."_

_The mother began pulling the daughter away, looking anxiously at the old couple walking nearby. The girl followed, but looked back to see all that remained of her sculpture: a small, white hand, still offering the flower._

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**A/N: As I said, sorry it took so long. I was having migraines, and my siblings were hogging the computers, and then I accidentally exited out before saving, but I finally finished it! Was it too rushed? Too slow? Focused on useless pieces of information? Please tell me! I'll try to get something to happen soon.**

**Thank you to the people who reviewed that last chapter! It meant a lot to me! Thanks also to the people who favorite and followed! I have a lot of Homework over the week, so I have no idea if I'll update before next weekend. Forgive me!**

**R&R Please!**


	3. Sight

**A.N. So I've been battling extreme** **writers block and came up with a cure: since I already said April can't be the ONLY experimented-on human, I'll just write about MORE of the other Imperfects. Yeah, I'm writing about someone else with mutant problems whose path will eventually merge with Melody's. Thank you for your patience!**

**Disclaimer: Right, cause if I owned them, I would ****_definitely_**** write fanfiction about them.**

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Sight

People told me that without the scar, my face might be considered pleasant. That's why I preferred Charlie over people.

Charlie never lied to me, I would know if he tried.

Charlie told me the sky was blue. He told me that grass was green. He told me that I was his sister; I couldn't remember if I was.

But Charlie never lied.

He asked me if I could describe what being different was like. I couldn't. To do so, I would have to know what being normal felt like.

So I asked about me. I wanted to know who I had been in the hopes that it would help me find who I was now.

According to Charlie, I was six years old. My name had been Charlotte Eloise Hall. It suited me, so I kept it.

About eight months ago, I wouldn't come out of my room. When my family went in to check, I wasn't there anymore.

Charlie left that night to find me. He knew it wasn't a coincidence. He knew that me being different was linked to me being kidnapped. My parents didn't know I was different, only Charlie.

He had noticed a strange van on our street the day before I disappeared, so he left to find it. He spent months combing the streets, looking for information, and finally was led to a car garage. The van was there and so was I.

I remember nothing.

Charlie made his own decision and decided it wasn't safe for us to go home. He said we're homeless, but I can't imagine the opposite.

My world was the street, my world was night after night spent in the alleys, my world was Charlie and questions and knowing and something missing.

Charlie said I was blind, was born blind. he said I couldn't see. I did not understand what sight could be. My world was filled with thoughts and voices and noises and feelings. So many I often felt there was too much.

But there was also something missing. I figured that it must be the sight.

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**Sorry I totally switched plots on you, I feel really bad about that. Next chapter will be following Charlotte! (no guarantees)**


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